


Thank the children

by bastet_lives



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Asking out on a Date, Awkward Bucky, Barnes family banter, Gen, M/M, Musician Steve, OC niece and nephew of Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve cares for his students, hinted at ADHD, hints at depression but only mentioned and not gone into further, music 'teacher' Steve, pining Bucky, recovering vet Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25258294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastet_lives/pseuds/bastet_lives
Summary: Asking out people on a date is scary, especially if the guy you want to ask out is cuteandyour niblings' music teacher. It takes his niblings and sister's interference before Bucky manages to.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68
Collections: Marvel Undercover 2020





	Thank the children

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'd like to thank [ AuroraWest ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/works) for beta'ing this for me.
> 
> This is cute? I think. I hope the person who prompted this will like it. The prompt was basically Steve as starving artist, teaching by the side and Bucky bringing his sister's kids to those lessons. It somehow ended up being more about Bucky's pining.

“Heya, kiddos,” Bucky greeted his nephew and niece as they walked out of their school. He was leaning against the school gate, trying (and probably failing) not to look like a creep. In his defense he was just another loving relative waiting for the children underneath his care. So what if he wore leather pants, a leather glove on his left hand, and a leather jacket with chains dangling down? Bucky had style.

His nephew beamed as soon as he saw Bucky and sprinted forward. Benny lunged towards Bucky to wrap his tiny little arms around Bucky’s waist. Well, half of Bucky’s waist. 

Bucky chuckled, grabbed Benny under his armpits, and whirled him around. His darling nephew shrieked in delight. When Bucky put him back on the ground, Benny pouted and demanded another. And because Bucky was weak, he twirled Benny around again.

By the time Bucky and Benny had finished their almost ritualistic greeting—Bucky ignored the scandalous and incredulous glares aimed at him—Bucky’s niece had ambled up to them. 

There would be no exuberant greeting from Amalia, Bucky knew. She was the more serious of the twins, just like Bucky was the more serious one between him and Rebecca. A simple smile was usually enough. But Amalia didn’t stop frowning at him, even when he smiled at her.

“What’s the long face for, butter bee?” He squatted down and balanced on the balls of his feet but made sure that their eyes were on the same level. 

Amalia kept staring at him without saying a word until her eyes widened. Her hand hit her forehead and she let out a deep groan. She dragged her hand down over her eyes and groaned again.

Tilting his head, Bucky blinked. He had no idea how to respond to that kind of reaction.

“Uncle Bucky,” she began, peeking through the gaps of her fingers, ”are you using us to go tompeep on our piano teacher?”

Bucky almost swallowed his tongue as he wheezed out a surprised breath. “T-tompeep?”

“It’s what Ma calls it,” Benny piped up helpfully before he straightened and assumed a mock lecturing pose. “‘Bucky is peeping on poor Mr. Rogers like a feral tom cat yowling in heat. We shouldn’t let him take the kids there anymore,’ is what she said. You’re peeping like a tom. Tompeeping!”

His nephew continued to beam at Bucky like he had helped cure cancer or explained something monumentally difficult to an idiot. Bucky didn’t know how to feel about his nephew making him feel stupid.

Also, damn Rebecca.

“Your Ma,” Bucky said and paused just for a moment to gather the right words, “doesn’t know what she’s talking about sometimes. I’m just being a good brother and uncle, helping alleviate her burden of rushing out of work to hand you over to your teacher. Nothing bad about that.”

As Benny wrinkled his nose, Amelia reached over and poked Bucky hard enough to disturb his balance and send him sprawling to the ground. Standing over him, she copied his previous tilt of head and deadpanned. “Uncle, you always start using big words and complicated sentences when you don’t wanna admit Ma is right. You always do that.”

“It’s not nice to kick someone when they’re down,” Benny admonished his sister and trampled on Bucky’s pride when he added, “especially when they can’t defend themselves because we’re right and they’re wrong. That’s being called a bully!”

While Amalia was nodding like Benny had given sage advice, Bucky wanted to sink into the ground. Roasted. Roasted and burned by his own family.

“My own family! The betrayal, I can’t believe.”

He was interrupted by Amalia’s giggling. “Oh stop your dramatics, Uncle Bucky! We’ll stop. And allow you to walk with us to piano lessons.”

“Gee, I’m so happy to have the permission to walk you, princess,” Bucky snarked back. He smiled and scrambled back to his feet,then grabbed both Amalia and Benny around their middles and lifted them, carrying them a few steps. Both shrieked, Amalia more fearful than excited. But she quickly settled against his side.

Bucky carried them until they reached his car. He technically didn’t have Rebecca’s express permission to take them to their music lessons today. Well, he still was the kids’ emergency contact, but Rebecca had called him this morning and said she’d take the children to their piano lessons. However, they’d have to wait ten minutes.

When she arrived at the school, what kind of face would she make? Well, hopefully, his display had been obvious enough and the gossiping blabbermouths that had watched Bucky and his niblings fool around would open their jaws and regale Rebecca with their gossip. With a little bit of luck, an enraged Rebecca wouldn’t set the cops on his ass.

Worst case, Bucky could always wield his status as ‘honorably discharged vet who lost a limb fighting for this country’ as a bargaining chip. It had gotten him out of some things. Mind you, it also came with PTSD and nightmares from hell and dissociation episodes, but well. Nothing was free.

“Don’t forget safety belts,” he rumbled at them and strapped himself in. Bucky had to wait as Benny fumbled with the belt, but then they were off.

The nearer they got to the youth music center, the more his excitement grew. Bucky had memorized the way from his niblings’ school to that  center . 

The first time Rebecca had asked him to drive her kids to the  center , Bucky had been reluctant. He had been still getting used to the new arm and had shied away from leaving the tiny guest room in Rebecca’s house. The outside world, as he had called it, was always too much those first months.

Rebecca had put her foot down, though, and demanded he do something while he was hanging around her house. She had, honest to whatever deity sat upon their golden throne way up above,  _ slapped _ the shit out of him, when he had dryly commented that if she wanted recompense for him staying in her home, he could give her half of the hush money the government kept sending him. Bucky had seen more than enough classified shit and the government would like him to keep his mouth shut. So, blackmail money. Yay.

Of course, Rebecca had refused and told him she didn’t want his money—she wanted him to live again. That sentence still didn’t make any sense. Bucky was and had been alive then as well. Anyway, he had caved in the end, gotten the children,  _ gotten lost _ , and arrived almost half an hour too late. Both Amalia and Benny had been near tears.

But an angel had stood in front of the  center with a scowl so wide, Bucky had thought it was a wonder it didn’t break his face. Immediately, Bucky wanted him. He had a thing for grumpy little things that could melt into his arms, sue him.

Unfortunately, whatever game Bucky had had before his soldier stint had been blown off with his arm. So he had stuttered and stammered as the blond angel had turned on him and let him have it. The sharp words could have sawn right through his metal shoulder. The angel also had made him promise to memorize the route and to not be late again.

Bucky loved spunk, loved passion (from what his niblings told him, that man was very happy about teaching piano) and he loved people he could just cover with his body. Needless to say, he had fallen in love with Steve Rogers as quick as a lamb shook its tail.

He just couldn’t convince his tongue to ask Steve Rogers out to get to know him better. Almost everything Bucky knew about the piano man—he laughed internally because of that pun—he had learned secondhand from Amalia and Benny.

After heaving a big sigh, Bucky smiled as they rolled up the  center . “Off you go, you rascals.”

Amalia smirked and threw a mischievous look at him. “Wait here for us, Uncle Bucky! Promise.”

“Sure, butter bee.”

When she stuck her tongue out at him, Bucky threw his head back and chuckled.

* * *

Steve had been inconsolable, back when he realized that living off his music would be impossible. He had always dreamed of living off his music alone. The image of him using his degrees and creating masterful soundtracks for film, tv and therapy had been seared into his mind as a certain future. Of course, that image had gone up in a puff of smoke a year after he graduated and looked at his finances.

There had been no way around admitting that he had needed to get another job. His savings could have tided him over for a couple of months but then nada, nilch, zilch, zero. Without another job he couldn’t have made his rent  _ and _ all his savings would be gone. He needed those for emergency hospital trips or medicine.

So by day he had made jingles, sent in music samples wherever he could, and by night he had searched for another job he could do on the side.

The month after he had to first dip into his savings, he finally got another job. Steve wasn’t as religious as his mother had been but thank God he got that job. Because by then Steve had been a mental and physical mess; he’d started to only eat once a week to save on money. Sam had referred him to a youth  center aimed at teaching those with special needs of any kind, be they mental, physical or emotional.

One of Steve’s musical degrees was in Music Composition, but in the  center he mainly made use of his second one, Music Therapy. While getting the job had been a necessity, Steve came to love it.

He adored those children who didn’t know how to express themselves with their body or their words but practically bloomed like a flower in front of an instrument. He adored the children who couldn’t sit still, who had to walk around or fidget while playing music. He adored the children who could pass themselves off as having no issues but only thrived when pouring themselves into the music.

Anyway, while Steve was still eating Ramen more often than he was comfortable with, he had started scaling down his search for his big moment. Right now, he was satisfied with writing jingles and teaching children with disadvantages heaped on them by society the art of music.

Steve shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, but he couldn’t deny that he had a couple.

Peter, who hardly ever talked, but give that child a violin and he’d hop around, playing like the bow was an extension of himself.

Wade, with his scarred fingers and scarred skin, who had almost given up on everything by the time Steve got his hands on him. Steve saw it as a particular accomplishment that he had imparted the love of singing on Wade. After all, Steve couldn’t sing.

Gwen, who lived with foster parents and had shut away herself from the world. She also put her entire back into playing the drums, always smiling.

Benjamin, who got distracted so very easily but calmed down when playing his scales up and down.

His twin, Amalia, who became more animated when laying her fingers on the keys and creating a melody full of twists and turns. It was funny how the twins had opposing reactions to playing music.

So yeah, Steve shouldn’t have favorites, but he did. And he was reminded of this when the Proctor twins stopped playing and turned to him. They looked up to him with big eyes, uncharacteristically still in Benjamin’s case.

“Is it that late already?” Steve pondered out loud, dramatically looking at the clock. They actually still had about half an hour before the lesson ended. Usually, he had to browbeat them into stopping for the day, telling them that he was tired and since they were his last students for the day, could they please hurry up. He was exhausted. They were kind children who would jump at that point and usher  _ Steve _ out.

“Well,” Amalia drawled, blinking. “We forgot to tell you, Mr. Steve, but Mom wanted to fetch us a bit earlier today. It’s a family thing!” Next to her, Benjamin nodded wildly, his curls flying around his face.

“Uh-huh.” Steve ticked both of his eyebrows up—unlike Natasha he wasn’t capable of just moving one. He envied that skill. “So you wouldn’t mind if I called your Mom?”

Butter wouldn’t melt on their faces as they chirped, “Sure.” Steve didn’t know if he should trust them as invisible alarms started ringing.

He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his phone. It was easy to find their mother’s number. Two minutes later, Steve hung up, mildly unnerved. Nine minutes after that, he waved to the twins and their mother, bemused.

Steve grew even more bemused, when the twins’ mother grinned at him and told Steve to make ‘him’ work for it. Whoever that ‘him’ was, Steve had absolutely no idea.

“Well,” Steve muttered to himself, while he was sweeping the floor. “At least I’ll be at home earlier and will have more time for staring at the wall.”

Dammit, Steve didn’t want to admit that both Sam and Natasha were right whenever they told him that he was behaving like an old man ready to retire. Who else would think of staring at the wall first when they found themselves with a bit of spare time? Ruminating about this sad fact of his life made time fly and he managed to close up the building by the time he’d usually let the twins off.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he sighed and turned the key. With that completed, he turned around to go home. But home would have to wait. Steve had barely taken a couple of steps when someone skidded around the corner and ran directly into him, knocking him off his feet.

On reflex, Steve clenched his eyes shut and prepared for pain. It wasn’t the first time he had been pushed or was accidentally knocked onto his ass—there wasn’t exactly a lot of meat on Steve’s bones. He just prayed that there would be no broken bones or anything else that would necessitate a hospital visit. He had no desire to add on hospital bills to his budgeting.

But Steve didn’t feel any of the expected pain. Instead there was a yank on his wrist—ow, that actually did hurt—and then he was pressed to something warm and solid.

“I’m sorry for running into you,” a raspy, somewhat familiar voice said and Steve craned his head up and opened his eyes. Oh. That was the twins’ uncle, wasn’t it? The hot one Steve had screamed at, that one time when he had been pissed at the world and everyone but the children. Afterwards, Steve had been  _ mortified _ . But he had never found the right moment to apologize.

Swallowing, Steve shook his head—and, as his nose rubbed  _ nipples  _ through the thin material of a shirt, he realized he was being pressed against the man’s chest. Despite feeling himself blush, Steve added, “That’s ok, nothing happened. Thank you for catching me.”

Was it only him, or had that been horribly choppy? The man’s slight grimace told Steve it was the latter. Before he could correct himself, the man let him go. Unconsciously, Steve let out a whine.

“Still sorry, anyway, where are the rugrats?” When Steve merely blinked at the man, the man flushed and elaborated. “I mean, Benny and Amalia. Uhh, Amalia and Benjamin?”

“Is there any reason why you call one of the twins by a shortened name and the other not?”

Not what he wanted to say, but Steve would take it. Darn, this man was too beautiful to think clearly.

“Well, I got a nickname for Amalia. I did call her Amy once but she asked me not to. Still ain’t answering my question.” The man flushed again. “I actually have to fetch them, so where are they?”

“Apparently, there was a family thing.” Maybe Steve’s confusion was shining through his voice and being reflected in the other man’s face. At least, until the Jingle Bells started playing from somewhere nearby. Make that very nearby, when the man grabbed into his pockets and pulled out a phone.

“Uncle Bucky,” the twins were screaming loud enough for Steve to hear through the phone. “Man up and ask Mr. Steve out! It’s sad!”

“And pathetic, children, don’t forget pathetic.” Their mother was also shouting. They had to be doing that on purpose. “Like the kids said, man up, ask him out or I’ll tell him you’re stalking him.”

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Bucky—what kind of name was Bucky? Steve thought that name suited a particularly toothed rabbit more than a human—yelped before glancing at Steve. He quickly looked away again. “You’ve made your point.”

“I damn well hope so. Mr. Rogers, like I’ve said, make him work for it.”

A laugh bubbled out of Steve’s throat as Bucky spluttered and yelled empty threats at his sister. Then he hung up on her and stared at Steve. They spent ten minutes staring at each other. Literally. It should have annoyed Steve but he found it hilarious.

Finally, Bucky took a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Bucky, the dumbass who uses his sister’s kids to go and see you. Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Steve disregarded Ms. Proctor’s advice immediately. “I’m Steve. And sure, I’d love to. Would tomorrow work?”

“Would  _ now _ work?” Bucky’s eyes widened as though he hadn’t meant to say that.

It might have been an unconscious slip, a sign of impatience and elation, but it meant the world to Steve.

Grinning at Bucky, Steve answered. “Sure. Now works perfectly.”

Bucky’s grin was as bright as the sun.


End file.
